Not Their Woods
by sinking815
Summary: Gale leads and Katniss follows. Everything seems simple and familiar. Even though this is not their woods, in that moment, the illusion is real again, and she clutches desperately to it with a painful grasp. G/K AU Mockingjay rewrite. T for now.


_Not Their Woods  
__November 23rd, 2013  
__sinking815_

_A/N: I don't know where this is going. I haven't had the opportunity to write in forever, and did not anticipate this to be the product of my pathetic amount of free time. I think there is the hope of a possible multi-chapter AU retelling of Mockingjay in me somewhere. At least, that's what I gather from the way this starts and ends. Of course, I am at the mercy of my inspiration as readers of my work know all too well. But then again, finals are approaching and for whatever reason, I seem to write the most during those stretches. *cross your fingers* As always, reviews are appreciated. I'll even venture to say ideas are welcomed to help focus and redirect this runaway train... provided of course that they are Gale/Katniss in nature. :D_

* * *

She hates the way he looks under the infirmary lights. His skin seems sallow, thin and stretched. His cheekbones stick up at harsh angles, the multitude of scrapes and bruises adding to the sunken effect.

He's alive though, she can see, from the bags and bags of fluids they pump into him through tangled tubing. Gently, she touches the bandage across his forearm that hides the needle from view, can feel beneath her fingers the rush of saline streaming into his veins. It all seems so tenuous, so breakable, she thinks, if life can be preserved with stitches and morphling.

Seeing Gale like this, she thinks she might cry, and she swipes viciously at a rogue tear before it can fall. It seems like recently all she's been doing is crying. How many more tears can she possibly have left anyway?

The flash of anger is welcome. She stokes it with careful nudges and starts to re-focus it because it's easier than the helplessness. Than the fear.

_Damn you, Gale_.

What was he thinking? Sneaking off to the Capitol to save a boy whose rescue could bring him down, shattered and broken-hearted, all for a girl he couldn't even say goodbye to before he left.

_What if you had died too? _ she asks silently. _What would I have done then?_

She doesn't know how long she sits there and tries not to answer those questions. As empty and distraught as she felt not knowing about Peeta's pain and struggles, she knows deep in her soul that Gale's death would have been crippling.

After sometime, his eyes flutter, fighting the bright fluorescents and finally opening into a drug-induced blur. His gray eyes wander distractedly before they catch hers, and he smiles dazedly.

"Hey, Catnip," he slurs.

Just the sound of his voice renders all her fear and anger at him momentarily forgotten.

"Hey, Gale."

Her voice is uneven and thick and she hates it. So she dives back into the anger, lets it drive away that overwhelming emotion she doesn't dare to name.

"You didn't tell me…" she swallows, "Why didn't you tell me?"

It occurs to her that now is not really the time nor the place to assign blame and point fingers. Gale doesn't need her to be mad at him, at least not when he's a captive audience. He's not forgiving of her anger, but he also understands it. If the situation was reversed, he could see himself being angry too.

So he lets her tells him how rash he was, how he could have died without her knowing, without so much as offering her some closure if he did. He knows it was borderline arrogant of him to assume he wouldn't have needed that, and didn't he think to consider how she would feel, would have felt if he hadn't returned?

He knows because he can put himself in her shoes. He feels the same way about her, and he wonders if he's the only one in the room who recognizes why Katniss is really so upset. She's not really mad, he thinks. She's angry that she's afraid.

"If I had said goodbye, would you have let me go?" he asks, when the tears are all but falling down her cheeks.

She bites her lip, hesitates, and he thinks she might lie to him.

"I would have asked you not to," she says, so softly admitting so much.

Gale stares at her until she looks up at him.

"Yeah, I know."

/

The dreams come again after that.

Except they're less about the Games and more about the war and Snow and Gale somewhere in between. She doesn't like putting Snow and Gale in the same sentence.

It makes her stomach twist and her palms sweat.

She wonders how she manages not to wake her mother and Prim when the sound of her own screams pull her back to the still of their compartment.

Prim's asleep with her mother, and suddenly Katniss wishes someone could hold her as well.

Peeta used to keep the dreams away.

But Peeta is a dream now. Or at least he wouldn't care about staving hers off anyway. He'd probably bite out something spiteful about her deserving them after what she put him through.

She swings her legs off the bed, and she thinks he might be right.

Even if she does deserve them, she doesn't want to face them again so soon. Not when she can still feel the remnants of her nightmare so clearly. Gale's blood soaking her hands. His dead weight pulling unmovable at her shoulders.

No. She shakes her head, pushing those thoughts away, and slipping out into the hallway. It's easier to breathe outside their cramped room. The dimmed lighting is enough to keep her dark thoughts pushed back to the edges. She starts walking because her body compels her to. She only stops when her feet take her to the hospital ward. Her autopilot clicks off and her heart clicks on, so she lets it lead her to his door, only hesitating to wonder what he'll think of her showing up in the middle of the night.

He's awake and she doesn't have to wonder long, because his hunter sense catches the movement outside his window instantly. _What's wrong_?his eyes ask, as she lets herself into the room.

She doesn't have to say anything. He can see the panicky remnants of her nightmare all over her wide eyes and shaky hands. He pats the sliver of hospital cot he can afford to spare.

"Up you go, Catnip."

Though she tries not to, she inadvertently jostles him, disrupting some injury somewhere. He exhales sharply, tensing until she finally settles by him, her head on his chest, her shoulder tucked up under his arm. She purposefully avoids his bandaged side, curling her fist just below his breastbone. She sighs in relief when he folds his arm around her, his hand coming to rest on her hip.

They breathe together until their limbs feel heavy and their eyelids droop.

She sleeps through the rest of the night.

/

And most of the next morning.

When the nurse goes to wake her, Gale growls something that earns him ten hours in Community after he's discharged.

/

They don't let her wash dishes with him.

The first few hours of his shift Katniss spends following Coin around, trying to persuade Thirteen's leader that she is just as deserving of the punishment as Gale. It is the fifth attempt at persuasion that almost gets her head bitten off when Coin insists that she has made enough accommodations for the Mockingjay, and if the Mockingjay doesn't cool her jets, she's starting to sound like the jabbering variety of her species, which can easily be ignored.

Katniss spends the last hours of his shift, sulking in the woods. She doesn't yell into the wooded oblivion like Gale would, but she does kick the fallen leaves around some, mumbling under her breath before collapsing in an indignant heap. Her hand slides into her pocket and retrieves the worn rope Finnick gave her.

She doesn't know how time passes as she works through knot after knot. But it does, and she's just thinking she needs to thank Finnick once again for her sanity, when she's startled by a crusted metal plate thrust into her vision.

Gale gives her a bemused smile that says 'Gale: 153, Katniss: 0". Instead he says, "I heard you wanted to help, so I saved you one."

As he folds his long legs underneath him, she doesn't ask who told on her – news travels fast underground especially since the only thing schedules don't regulate is gossip.

When he settles next to her, he sits close enough that his knee brushes hers, and she likes the immediate heat she feels through the thin gray-blue fabric of their pants. Something about the moment of him and her just sitting and breathing floats her back to the past. Where everything was simpler in its dim existence. When they weren't so complicated and entangled in theirs. She wishes it was still real.

It takes her a second to recognize Gale's gaze watching her tie and untie. She pauses and it's only then that he glances away, knowing that he's been caught.

"Looks like you've got that bowline down," he says.

She thinks she's supposed to say thanks.

"I'm sorry I got you in trouble," she blurts instead.

"Is that what's worrying you?"

"I'm not worried."

Her reply is too quick; they both know it.

"Katniss…" Gale sighs, her name slightly exasperated. "You're in the middle of the woods with a piece of rope and no bow. You're either worried or angry about something."

Katniss winces a little. His words aren't meant to be harsh in their exposure, they only cut because they're true. She knows hiding behind humor won't fool him, but she thinks it might distract him.

"I just really wanted to wash dishes."

"Catnip…" he pleads, stopping her tying with his hand. "Talk to me."

"The dreams are getting worse again," she says, after a moment.

He senses the tremor in her voice, and immediately tries to dissuade her fear.

"They're just dreams, they're not real…"

"That doesn't make them feel any less real!"

Gale looks wounded at her tone before his face scowls into frustration. He doesn't say anything and the silence that falls between them makes Katniss feel bad for having lost her temper.

"They're just different than before," she explains.

"How so?" he asks.

"When Peeta was gone, they focused on him. What they were doing to him, what they were making him do. Was he alive or not? When you left to get him, they suddenly were about both of you…"

Katniss swallows past something heavy in her throat.

"I thought I was just afraid that I would never see either of you again. But since you've been back, they're not about Peeta anymore."

_They're only about you…_

She doesn't know why she doesn't, why she _can't_ say that out loud. All she knows, when she finds it in herself to look at him, is that he doesn't need her to say it. He can see it in her eyes and the way she huddles into herself. In the way her fingers twitch the rope. It's unnerving to her what the unspoken may imply.

"But I'm here, Katniss," Gale says, gently turning her face to him. "I came back in one piece… Well, almost."

It earns him a wobbly smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes. He takes that as his cue to not press it, and stands brushing stray leaves from his pants before offering his hand. She takes it, her weight barely a strain on the muscles in his forearm. He tries not to reflect on how fragile this new Katniss is.

"Come on, we've got half an hour or so," he says, checking the time with a lopsided smile. "Let's see how much we can trouble we can get in."

Katniss follows without hesitation watching the shadows of the bare branches zig-zag across Gale's back. Their steps are silent, their old way settling warmly if disjointedly between them. Gale leads and Katniss follows. Everything seems simple and familiar.

Even though its not their woods, in that moment, the illusion is real again, and she clutches desperately to it with a painful grasp.

/_fin_


End file.
